


Forecast

by Merit



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: F/M, ToT: Chocolate Box
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-20 04:38:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8236352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/pseuds/Merit
Summary: Sabriel hadn't seen Touchstone for weeks.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemonsharks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsharks/gifts).



Once Touchstone and Sabriel had returned to the Old Kingdom, they had been thrust into a whirlwind of events and responsibilities. Touchstone hurried off to Belisaere to the business of running a kingdom and Sabriel turned east, toward an insurrection of Dead.

Weeks passed with Sabriel seeing Touchstone, the odd messenger hawk her only contact with him.

It was almost mid summer when Sabriel heard the familiar cry of the hawks. She raised her head, brushing a dry strand of hair out of her eyes. She missed the regular haircuts at Wyverley College at times like these. She supposed she was dreadfully out of date now. Sabriel smiled as she watched the hawk circle above her head. In the Old Kingdom, a sword was never going to be out of style. The hawk landed on a tree several paces ahead of Sabriel. She dismounted her horse, wincing and rubbing her hip, and reached out for the hawk.

It was from Touchstone and Sabriel's face lightened at the sound of his voice. Once she heard his message, her brows drew together and she lowered her head. The message ended and Sabriel stared in silence at the road in front of for several moments. The hawk cried and Sabriel's lips twitched. It was a good thing for the hawk that she tried to keep bits of dried meat about.

Touchstone and Sabriel had been pushing their wedding off for months now. Marriage had seemed like the best solution to their feelings but there had always been a disaster in the south, a horde of Dead in the west, a Charter Stone to be mended in the east or an ill timed omen from the Clayr in the North. The Clayr, of course, had been incredibly mum about the wedding.

Though Sabriel supposed they all had more important things to See in the ice.

She fed the hawk quickly and then remounted her horse and turned south.

After the particularly fierce battle with an upstart Free Magic necromancer, Touchstone, after sharing one weary look with Sabriel, decided they would be married in three days hence. Sabriel had yawned before agreeing. Touchstone threaded his fingers with hers, blood staining her cuffs, and then gently kissed the top of her head.

They stayed embraced for one impossible moment, before Touchstone had sighed, “Back to work, my love,” and Sabriel nodded. She stretched, her neck cracking, Touchstone at her side.

Three days later, Sabriel smoothed down her new surcoat, smiling as the silver keys shone in the weak sunlight. “Oh it is very nice,” she murmured to the sending hovering my her elbow. Then she reached for her bells, fingers ready to still any rebellious clappers. They were also a comforting weight on her chest now, even if the acrid taste of Free Magic burned the back of her throat. Her sword came next, buckled on and then Sabriel grinned at her reflection.

She was fairly certain she would be the only girl from Wyverley College who went to her wedding day with a sword and a bandolier of bells. Sabriel gave one girlish spin, giggling, as her sword thwapped against her thigh. Then she tucked her hair behind her ears, nodding firmly at herself. She had even indulged in a haircut and she felt much better now that her hair wasn't constantly getting into her eyes.

Sabriel left her room, peering out of the windows of the Abhorsen's House, where the flowers were in full bloom, as she descended the stairs.

The sendings rushed around her legs, smoothing her surcoat, pushing her sword out of her way. It was all rather unexpected, that Sabriel almost tripped. She sighed heavily, “Oh you're just being too helpful,” which didn't seem to deter them at all.

She walked into the garden, seeing glimpses of Touchstone through the greenery. He seemed to be pacing back and forth and Sabriel couldn't help the smile that flittered to her mouth.

When she reached the Great Fig Tree she was surprised to meet Sanar and Ryelle. They embraced her warmly, one after the other.

“Saw this, did you?” Sabriel said archly.

The twins exchanged a glance. “One cannot help the visions we See,” Ryelle said.

“And we Saw Touchstone's hawk, before it flew from Belisaere, encouraged to fly high above the clouds,” Sanar added.

“He looked quite worried - ”

“ - and we couldn't help but wonder what message the hawk carried.” Sabriel leaned back on her heels, noting the Clayr seers hadn't forgotten their habit of finishing each others sentences.

“We saw many dark futures before your arrival, Sabriel,” Ryelle murmured, “You were but one, impossibly bright, future.”

“And all the Clayr hoped for you,” Sanar said sombrely.

“But possibly not as much as Touchstone did,” Ryelle said, “Trapped within wood.”

“Frozen in time.”

“And you are still his hope, the Abhorsen who will slay the Dead and put down Necromancers -”

“And his bride to be, on this glorious day.”

“Touchstone originally wanted it four days hence,” Ryelle whispered in Sabriel's ear, blonde hair rustling in the gentle breeze.

“But there will be a dreadful downpour then,” Sanar continued, “And we thought a bright and glorious wedding day, the sun high in the sky, would be more suitable.”

The Clayr hooked their arms with Sabriel and pulled her forward.

“Oh and we had to be here,” Sanar said.

“Clayr can officiate weddings,” Ryelle added. Then all three women laughed, as they met Touchstone in the rose garden.

He was standing nervously by the well, straightening his tunic, running a hand through his hair. Touchstone started he saw Sabriel, his mouth quirking as he saw she was still wearing a sword and bandolier of bells. He was still wearing his sword, Sabriel noted. She reached for him, as they approached, fingers sliding through fingers. He hooked his thumb around, gently stroking the skin there.

“Sabriel,” he murmured, and Sabriel's heart sped up.

“Touchstone,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder to pull his close. It had been weeks since they had last seen each other and under the warm sun, Sabriel felt herself heal a bit.

Over his shoulder she could see the sendings gathering, some almost invisible under the glare of the sun. They huddled together, just past the small gathering of people.

“I guess that takes care of witnesses,” Sabriel murmured, thinking of Ancelstierre. Here in the gardens of the Abhorsen, hurried whispers of Wyverley College old girls sneaking past their parents for a clandestine wedding, seemed so far away.

Touchstone raised an eyebrow questioningly before shrugging his shoulders. “The King is his own witness,” he said.

“Even when he's the one getting married?” Sabriel said, finally breaking their embrace, remembering that Sanar and Ryelle were _still there_.

“Especially,” he said, walking to where Sanar and Ryelle were standing, in brilliant white robes, crowns of moonstone on their brows. “Now,” he said, holding out his hand, “Shall we?”

“Yes,” Sabriel said, pressing her hand against his and smiling up into the sunlight.


End file.
